


birthdays were just shitty milestones

by obscurityofphylum



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Drug Abuse, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscurityofphylum/pseuds/obscurityofphylum
Summary: each year, klaus destroyed a little more of himself.
Kudos: 30





	birthdays were just shitty milestones

by age thirteen, klaus was stealing from the medicine cabinet. tylenol, advil, whatever he could get his hands on that would dull the ache in his chest. his dinner plates were left untouched, and two nights a week he would find himself on the stone floor of the mausoleum, praying to gods he didn't believe in, tearing his own skin open with dirty fingernails.

by age fourteen, klaus had moved on to heavier things. he had broken his own jaw and played it off as an accident, and when he woke up to morphine dripping into his veins from the iv, the numb, empty quiet was better than anything he had ever experienced in his entire life. when his jaw was finally unwired after eight weeks, he gulped down eighteen morphine tablets. he woke up in the infirmary three days later.

by age fifteen, klaus had no regard for his life anymore. he paid shady men for pills that he didn't even know the name of. his father no longer had to get luther's help to bring him to the mausoleum, as klaus didn't even fight back anymore. he choked in his tears, and tried not to scream like a child when he felt the cold breath of a ghost against the hairs on the back of his neck. nearly every night, he hung out of his bedroom window, smoke curling from his lips. he watched the stars, and wondered if he would ever be able to die.

by age sixteen, klaus wasn't able to breathe. the ghosts were getting stronger, and he was getting weaker. his ribs stuck out underneath baggy hoodies. reginald had emptied his room, confiscating every substance he found. now, klaus's nights weren't peaceful, just sitting under his windowsill, back against the wall, ghosts howling in his ears as he rubbed his eyes, sober and afraid. he paid a man in a way he'll be ashamed of for the rest of his life just for a needle and some powder. he wondered what his father would think of him, selling his body just to get away from the very thing his father was trying to emerge in him. that night, allison found him, his lips tinged blue and his muscles spasming from seizures. a half-filled syringe stuck out from his scrawny arm.

by age seventeen, klaus thought he could never die. or maybe he just didn't mind if he did. he went missing for two weeks, only to be found sleeping in an alleyway, half-dressed and high as a kite. he couldn't remember the last time he had an actual meal, and he weighed less than both his sisters. he had reached mania. diego and luther struggled to hold him down without hurting him, from his frantic screaming and crying. they all knew it was psychosis from the drugs. he would barricade himself in his room, screaming at anyone who tried to interact with him who wasn't there to give him something to snort or inject.

by age eighteen, klaus lost the most important person in his life. ben had died, the only person who could make him smile without the help of narcotics. he locked himself in his room, trying to sober up enough to conjure him. he stayed up every night for a week straight, trying to see even the slightest vision of his brother. he passed out from exhaustion and withdrawals.

when he woke up, there was a little girl riding her bicycle.


End file.
